That Winter (4)

Hahahaha!

Oh-hong-hong-hong!

The night grew deeper, and the laughter of Xia Yuanji, the guards of the Eastern Depot, and the family of Yuwol Pavilion grew louder with it. And ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with every burst of mirth, the bond between them thickened, drawing them closer still.

Hohohoho!

There were barely forty people seated, the women included, yet the empty wine bottles had already climbed past a hundred. The food and drink laid out tonight would easily come to twenty taels of silver — a sum equal to a common family's living expenses for an entire year. Only Yuwol Pavilion, the finest entertainment house in the imperial capital, could command such a price.

Holy Mother Yeongyeon and Civil Chancellor Zheng Hui understood perfectly well what this gathering meant, and so they poured out food and wine without the slightest reservation. Their son had brought his comrades home. What parent would not put on a proper face for that?

Before they knew it, the first mark of the Rat hour had arrived — eleven at night. It was time to break up the party if they were to enter the palace tomorrow, and the people of Yuwol Pavilion withdrew first.

"Aigoo, I'm drunk. Had I known the inner attendants' drinking songs ran this high and this merry, I'd have joined you lot ages ago."

Minister of Revenue Xia Yuanji, seated in the place of honor, began to steer the mood.

"Oh-hong! There's still plenty of time, Your Excellency."

"Grand Director."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

The voice with which Xia Yuanji called Zheng He had dropped, settling heavy and still, and the voice with which Zheng He answered hardened to match it.

"You have lost your own flesh and blood. The grief must be great. Tend to your heart. They have all gone to a better place, have they not?"

"I only hope the parents and brothers they meet in the next world don't turn them away."

Glug, glug, glug. Hearing that self-mocking murmur, Xia Yuanji filled Zheng He's cup.

"How could they? It is the bond of heaven itself."

"I am grateful, Your Excellency. From the old days until now, you have never looked down upon us inner attendants."

Zheng He lifted the filled cup and clasped his hands in salute.

Xia Yuanji was a rare civil official from a eunuch's point of view. Unlike ordinary bureaucrats, who regarded the castrated with perpetual distaste, he neither scorned nor slighted them. The very fact that he sat with them now, without ceremony, in a private gathering, was proof enough.

Ordinary officials — Confucian scholars especially, steeped in the rites — treated sharing a table with a eunuch as something close to shame, even humiliation. Sharing one in public? The question was not even worth asking.

It was only under the Yongle Emperor's reign that Zheng He, supreme commander of ten thousand eunuchs, had been granted a seat at official palace banquets. Under the Hongwu Emperor and the Jianwen Emperor, such a thing had been unthinkable. The usual lot of a eunuch at a feast was to stand off to one side, silent and respectful, playing the part of a waiting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stone.

And so the atmosphere of quiet contempt, of looking down on eunuchs, remained as it always had. Eunuchs were neither men nor women. A people raised, in truth, as servants of the innermost palace.

"Looked down upon? You inner attendants and we outer officials are all the same — servants of the throne. Those counterfeit gentlemen don't even realize they're spitting in their own faces."

"Your Excellency's virtue runs deep."

Zheng He, still holding his cup in salute, emptied it with the compliment.

"Gongsun Qianh— no. He's an Eastern Depot Yeongban now. Yeongban Gongsun, Station Master Jeong, and Middle Station Master Jiang as well. Keep your hearts firm."

"Thank you, Your Excellency!"

Gongsun Dajing, Jeong Myeong-su, and Jiang Wenchen had also lost hundreds of comrades on the day of the Mount Baohua bloodbath. Until this very afternoon the three of them had been drafting letters to the bereaved families of those who had fallen that day, gathering stipends and personal effects, settling every last scrap of related business — and only then had they been formally transferred to the Eastern Depot.

Which meant tonight's gathering served three purposes at once: to mark the three men's entry into the Depot, to knit the bond between the Ministry of Revenue and the Eastern Depot, and to mourn the dead eunuchs and imperial guards.

......

Tap. Glug, glug, glug. Tap. Glug, glug, glug.

For a long while after that, those present drank in silence.

And then, at some point—

Tok.

A tear that had been hanging from the wrinkled lid of Brush-Holding Grand Eunuch Yi Gwak's eye fell onto the serving tray. The room had grown so quiet that even that tiny sound rang clear — and that sound was the beginning.

Splash. Splash. Splash. Splash.

Like raindrops running down the eaves, the eunuchs' tears fell into their wine cups. What began as a drizzle became, in moments, a downpour.

Ee—eee—ee!

Like the pipa and erhu weeping beyond the door, their tones mournful and piercing. Like rain. Like music. It fell into the deepest places of the chest, and soaked into the wounds that lived in the deepest places of the heart.

Wounds that belonged to the eunuch people alone.

Quick to anger, quick to settle. Quick to laugh, quick to weep. Irritable over small things, unmoved by great ones. Frenzied over trifles, indifferent to matters of consequence. People who poured their affection onto those weaker and lower than themselves.

The shift of yin and yang that came of cutting away their manhood had made their temperaments strange and jagged. But they, too, were human. People as tender as they were fierce.

They did not sob aloud, but in every eunuch's mind the memories of the dead were flickering past like a lantern show. In nearly every scene the faces of the fallen shone like starlight — and in the scene of the snow-buried forest, that starlight went out. Bright faces turned to ash, then to darkness.

Some had sold themselves for the parents and younger siblings who had given them life. Some had been sold by force. Most had chosen castration because they lacked the six taels of silver it cost, putting up as collateral a stipend that was not even worth a single tael — the wage of a black-tablet menial. There was no guarantee they would even survive three days after the cutting. And yet they had staked half a year's pay on a single promise: that once you became a eunuch, the palace would feed you and give you a place to sleep.

And so they had fled — from hunger, from war, from captivity, from abuse, from plague, from plunder, from every evil bond the world could forge — and arrived at the castration house.

They say there is no paradise waiting at the end of a flight. The boys' screams and groans, the blood-soaked floor — that place had been a new hell. The castration master, who had looked to a child's eyes like some terrible monster, and the thin blade in his hand. A shape they would never forget, not even in death.

The batchmates who, three days after their living flesh had been carved away, moaned in a pain that blacked them out — and died of inflammation because their urethras had sealed and they could not pass water. The batchmates who, six months later, stood before the Ministry of Rites examiner with their trousers down, waiting for the single word — Passed! — to leave his lips. The batchmates who had waited for their bureau assignments before Wang Guitong, who had been Junior Director in those days; then before Yi Gwak, who came after him; then before Yun Bong, who held the post now.

They who had been abandoned by the world, and so had sworn never to abandon one another. Brothers who had vowed that if, in some far future, they crossed the River of Forgetfulness and were born again, they would enter the world as brothers of the same blood and live together. Brothers whose blood was not mixed, but whose spirits and souls were.

The memories of those brothers became lakes in their minds, then rivers — and for some, an ocean they had never even seen, rolling and surging.

"Everything is fate. Fate."

The one who broke the painful silence was Yi Gwak, the first to have shed a tear. A eunuch who loved the eunuch people more than anyone.

"If this humble servant had only been given the chance..."

Chief Hall-Accompanying Eunuch Hai Shou. He had been attending the Yongle Emperor in the imperial tent during the Mount Baohua bloodbath, and so had taken no part in the slaughter in the woods. Hai Shou was from Joseon, but he had never been treated as a barbarian — only as one of the eunuch clan. And now, facing the deaths of the people who had taken him in as family without a single glance askance, Hai Shou suffered more than anyone.

"The clan's devotion and sacrifice have become the fertilizer of the Eastern Depot. If our people ever stand with our heads high as servants of the Great Ming and His Majesty, it will be thanks to that devotion and that sacrifice."

Chief Scribe Eunuch Wang Guitong laid a hand on Hai Shou's shoulder and soothed him.

And then Jin Myeong, who had been listening quietly from one side, seized his wine cup and surged to his feet.

......?

While those present stared in puzzlement, the standing Jin Myeong bowed his head respectfully toward Zheng He, cradling the cup in both hands. And then he opened his mouth. Softly.

Gulp!

With those words he tipped the wine down his throat, and holding the empty cup, still in the posture of a two-handed salute, his voice went on. No trace of drunkenness. No sob. Only a voice that was calm.

"Our people will give everything they have to guard the altars of state and the imperial house, to receive the Emperor's commands — and no matter what comes, we will never betray our own."

Beyond the clasped hands, a red light and a blue light kindled in the two pupils where the yin-yang-split Isin True Qi was circulating.

"Our people will follow the Great Ming Code...!"

And in that very instant—

"Our people will follow the Great Ming Code and the Four Principles of our clan. The mission and the lives of our people rest with the eunuchs."

A new voice joined him. Zheng He, supreme commander of ten thousand eunuchs, had shoved back his seat and risen, lifting his cup in salute toward his subordinates, adding his words. Just as Jin Myeong had done. That measured slowness was courtesy taken to its utmost.

"The Sunflower Manual has an end. The brotherhood ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of our people does not."

Next was Wang Guitong, second among the eunuchs, Chief Scribe Eunuch.

"Our people have made ready to receive the commands of the state and our lord, and we are resolved to spend every last scrap of our strength."

Then it was Jeong Go, a lowly Cheongsa eunuch who had been sitting in the corner.

"And our people will not forget the traditions built with the blood our people have shed."

Then Wang Zhen, Zhao Gou, and Yang Gwang beside him. And then the rest of the Grand Directors and eunuchs joined in, and the low voices of eunuchs saluting one another began to spread into every corner of the rear garden.

......

The music that had filled the garden faded away, and the whole noisy, bustling courtyard held its breath. The guests pricked up their ears at the strange chorus drifting from the innermost chamber. There was not a soul among those who had come to Yuwol Pavilion who did not know of the Mount Baohua bloodbath. They knew, too, that a dozen-odd eunuchs had come to the Pavilion tonight — and that the voices they were hearing now belonged to those very eunuchs.

......

While the entire drinking party in the garden froze, the eunuchs' solemn recitation went on. Heads and waists bowed toward one another, hands still clasped in salute.

Tok. Tok. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Tok.

The tears that had gathered fell onto the trays and shattered. This was comfort offered to one another, encouragement, a vow — and at the same time, a dirge and a requiem for the brothers who had died.

The last of the four principles a eunuch must keep brought the ceaseless recitation to a brief halt.

Hooooooo......

Then, as if by agreement, a long, long sigh spilled from the eunuchs' lips.

Pahaa......

Those present, and the entire garden, let out the breath they had not known they were holding.

And in that instant, the recitation resumed. That long sigh just before had been, in truth, the inability to bring themselves to speak the next verse.

Thud.

For a moment, the hearts of everyone seated in the garden dropped. This was the requiem the eunuch people originally murmured at the tomb of the dead. The desperate brotherhood and self-mockery hidden in it drove suddenly into the chests of those listening, pressing down, crushing.

A tremor. Xia Yuanji, Gongsun Dajing, Jeong Myeong-su, Jiang Wenchen, Jong Deok. And the guests in the garden listening from outside. The eyes of the Yuwol Pavilion family, who had stopped their instruments, blurred and swam.

Vicious. So viciously, terribly deep!

They choked on the passion rising in their throats, and even as they did, they clicked their tongues in awe. They felt as though they had glimpsed, if only from one side, where the eunuchs' bond and solidarity came from — and how deep, how wide it ran.

A dozen-odd men reciting long, unmetered phrases in a single voice, so drunk their noses were crooked, and not one beat, not one syllable out of place. And the content of it — what of that? This was something ordinary people could neither fathom nor guess at. This was solidarity so vicious, so extreme, it might as well have been madness.

Eunuchs were despised as men of low rank, as the defective. But now they understood at last why no one dared look down on a eunuch to his face. It is one thing to endure contempt or torment aimed at oneself. It is another thing entirely to endure it aimed at one's own family.

Touch one of them wrong, and ten thousand would come running, ready to die together. Truly, genuinely ready to stake their lives. So people might point and sneer behind their backs — but to their faces, no one would dare show contempt.

With the recitation of the final three toasts, the eunuchs lowered the hands they had held in salute and looked at one another, smiling brightly. With that tear-streaked smile, the eunuchs' drunken requiem — which had plunged the entire garden into passion — came to an end.

The next morning, at the Directorate of Ceremonial.

Jin Myeong and the eleven Depot guards of the Inspection Bureau, dressed in the newly established official robes of the Eastern Depot, stood facing Zheng He and Yi Gwak.

Senior officers of rank 5b and above wore red robes. Junior officers of rank 6a and below wore black. The junior officers' robes had been made black to signify that their martial prowess and skill as Depot agents were not yet fit to be displayed to the outside world. Given the nature of the Eastern Depot's work — stealth, infiltration, tailing, tracking, all of it demanding secrecy — exposure had been taken into account as well.

"Are you prepared?"

Zheng He, seated in the place of honor, swept his gaze over the lined-up guards and asked.

Jong Deok, rank 5b Orderly, who would himself be their scout and guide. Gongsun Dajing, Yeongban of Intermediate Peak Realm, who would hold the front line in a crisis, and Jeong Myeong-su, rank 5b of Initial Peak Realm, who would lock shields with him to reinforce the defense. Jiang Wenchen, First-Rate, rank 7a. Gang Su and Deok Heum, rank 6b of Initial Peak Realm, who would take the attack beside Jin Myeong while the three defenders held. Wang Zhen, Zhao Gou, and Yang Gwang, First-Rate, rank 8a, who would support the assault and handle communications and other operations. And Jeong Go, rank 9a, whose dantian had been restored.

These eleven had been selected for this mission. Eunuchs past the age of forty had not been chosen, for the distinctive look of an aging eunuch was too easily read. Gongsun Dajing, Jong Deok, Jeong Myeong-su, and Jiang Wenchen would be fixtures. The eunuchs, given how many attendant eunuchs already served the Zhu household, would be selected case by case according to the nature of each mission.

"Jang Jinmyeong and company, eleven in all. We will begin the pursuit of the Blood Death Archery Corps and Suchengye, Superintendent."

"If you have need, request support at once. Behind you stand this office and the Eastern Depot."

"Aye!"

The Depot guards — once split between the Directorate of Ceremonial and the Brocade Guards, now one body under the name of the Eastern Depot — answered as one. And with that, the Inspection Bureau of the Eastern Depot embarked on its first mission beyond the palace walls.